


Reunited

by kmary



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Reunions, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmary/pseuds/kmary
Summary: Sequel thing to emungere'sMatchbut can be read as a stand-alone.John and Greg met when John was still in Uni after John had been through a traumatic experience. They parted ways shortly after and now they have been reunited as seen in "A study in Pink".This is the morning after.





	Reunited

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Match](https://archiveofourown.org/works/721843) by [emungere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere). 



> I wrote this several years ago as a reaction to emungere's story because I am a total sucker for reunion stories. I never finished it or posted it until now because it felt strange to write sequel to someone else's fic. I found this recently and decided I might as well post is as not.

The last forty-eight hours had passed by like a wild dream and John woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room at an unusually late hour.

The memories from last night surged back into his mind so strongly, that it took until he had redressed in his two-day-old jeans and jumper to realise he had actually slept undisturbed by nightly horrors.

Venturing downstairs he found a pair of keys in top of a note, almost unnoticeable among the numerous beakers and other science equipment littering the kitchen table. Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

John fixed himself a cup of tea, wary of finding more experiments even remotely similar to the one in the microwave. John knew he didn't really have a problem with random body parts, even if they were removed from labs where they could be more suitably kept. He decided he didn't necessarily need to see them before being properly awake.

John pocketed the keys after reading the note. One was to get into the building, the other to get into the flat proper. He recalled getting similar instructions about a set of keys to another London flat years ago, and his thoughts immediately returned to the man he had received them from:

_Greg._

Of course he had recognised the man immediately when he had barged up the stairs to ask for Sherlock's assistance. The past eighteen years had made their mark on Greg; his posture was a bit more crouched, there was a tiredness in his eyes and his hair had turned from solid dark to silvery grey. Even so, John had been struck by the familiarity of his voice and his easy manners.

Greg, on the other hand, had not recognised John, or if he had, he had not shown it. A small part of John wanted to insist he simply hadn't left a big enough impression on Greg to be remembered by him. With an irritated frown John pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He studied his hand cradling the now empty teacup and tried to remember when it had last been untanned and unmarked by scars and callouses.

_Eighteen years, and fifteen of them in the Queens Army. Jesus Christ, even if he did remember, there's no wonder he couldn't recognise me._

John put the cup down and made a decision. With determined steps he went out into London's slow mid-morning bustle.

The day crept into late afternoon when John was shown onto the right floor and into the right office space at Scotland Yard. He had spent the day moving his boxed belongings to Baker Street, and after a well deserved shower was now ready to face his past.

At John's knock at the door the Detective Inspector waved him in with a tired grin.

"Doctor Watson, didn't expect to see you here." Greg's voice was rough from exhaustion.

"It's John."

That earned him another flash of teeth from the man across the desk.

"Alright, John, but I go by Lestrade, at least around these parts."

John sat down in a chair at Greg's nod and felt a frown grow on his face.

_He still doesn't know it's me. How the hell am I supposed to do this?_

Greg looked at him appraisingly and at last leaned forward with his elbows on his desk.

"Are you here to make a confession?" he asked.

_Yes, in a manner of speaking..._

"I thought since we'll probably be seeing each other a lot through Sherlock I might as well come by and..." John voice petered off as he caught sight of Greg's stare. "What?"

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?" John's eyebrows shot up on confusion.

"Don't. Just don't."

John opened hos mouth to ask what the hell Greg was talking about but was interrupted.

"What have you done with the gun?"

"Oh!" A chill of dread ran through John as he realised how wrong a turn this meeting had taken. Greg squinted at him from beneath his brows and waited.

_What am I supposed to say? Tossed in a bin? Bottom of the Thames?_

"It's safe. Under lock and key." John surprised himself with his honest answer. "But that's actually not why I'm here."

Now it was Greg's turn to look surprised.

"Go on." he urged.

John rubbed his face with his hand as he contemplated his phrasing.

_I know you know I shot a man yesterday, but hey, I'm that kid you helped half a lifetime ago when he'd been... no. No._

"Look. Just. I don't know how to... God, this is so bizarre." He finally managed with a sigh.

Greg's confusion showed clearly on his face and John shot him a crooked smile.

"Greg." He said, hoping it would spark at least a small light of recognition. "It's John."

Greg still didn't get it and John lost patience.

"John. From eighteen years ago. You helped me when I was... We were friends, I think." John reached into his pocket and set the old pair of keys Greg had given him on the desk between them. "You gave me you keys and I..." He made a weak gesture to the keys and leaned back into his chair. "You like pizza with garlic and pepperoni, you cut your toast into sticks and like nature programmes on the telly." 

_And this is a mistake, because you don't remember me._

Greg fingered the keys thoughtfully for a moment before he lifted his gaze to meet John's.

"Are you all right?" he finally asked.

"Of course I'm all right!" John bristled.

_Stupid, stupid idea._

"You have just killed a man." Greg insisted.

John took a moment before answering.

"In the army. In Afghanistan... I've seen men die before. Good men. Friends of mine." 

_And I've killed before, although that was strictly legal until last night._

"I thought I'd never sleep again." John finished.

"And?" Greg was still regarding John with a thoughtful expression.

"And I slept fine last night."

_And now you'll arrest me._

Silence fell over the room for a few moments before Greg straightened in his seat.

"Eighteen bloody years." Greg said at last and let out a tired and humourless laugh. "John bloody 'none-of-your-business'. John. What in the hell happened to you?"

John cringed in his seat.

_Everything happened, then nothing happened and then Sherlock happened._

"You're disappointed."

"I'm confused." Greg corrected. "And I've been given strict orders that you are off limits as far as the shooting goes. But you're not part of the Secret Service then?"

At John's apparent confusion Greg made a face.

"Sherlock Holmes has contacts in high places. I believe you've met his 'arch-enemy?'" was his explanation.

"Mycroft. The brother."

Greg nodded in confirmation.

"So you won't do anything?" John went on. "You won't arrest me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Not particularly, no." John rubbed his face again. "Sorry." He added as an afterthought. Suddenly he felt like eighteen years old again. "God, this is all so messed up."

The two men regarded each other in silence for a while. Then Greg got up from his chair and gathered his coat and his old keys. He motioned for John to follow him out of the office and let the sergeant outside know he was leaving for the day. Soon the two found themselves walking along the busy streets of London.

John stole glances of his old friend as they walked together in silence. He thought to himself that the years had made Greg look more ruggedly handsome, as opposed to the youthful good looks he remembered him by. When he dropped his gaze his eyes caught a glint of gold on Greg's hand. 

_Damn._

"You're married!" John exclaimed.

This earned him a bark of laughter from Greg.

"Married, with kids, if you'd believe it." Greg cast a glance in Johns direction. "And you?"

"No. Nothing like that." John felt at twinge in his chest that maybe could be jealousy.

_Nothing except an alcoholic sister, a busted shoulder, a depression, a therapist I can't talk to and a flatmate who may or may not be a sociopath but made me feel more alive yesterday than I've felt in months and isn't that a proof of madness?_

John was snapped out of his thoughts by Greg loudly clearing his throat.

"You did it so save his life, John. That makes a difference. And if this is going to work we're all going to have to put this whole business behind us."

"But you're still disappointed."

"Do you honestly care about that?"

_Shouldn't I?_

"Don't you?"

Lestrade stopped in his tracks and surprised John with a brilliant smile.

"I believe that answers both our questions."

When John returned to Baker Street it was with a lighter heart and a full stomach. Greg had eventually led them to a cosy pub and insisted to pay for their pints and food. John had protested at first, but thinking of the gaping hole in his savings he hadn't been too adamant. Anyway, Greg had waved him off and said John could pay next time.

Once settled in a corner-booth the conversation had started up again, still a bit hesitant, but with less tension. Greg had told John about his family and how he'd risen in the ranks at Scotland Yard, and John shared a few stories from his year in Africa and his residency at St. Barts. He didn't talk about Afghanistan, and Greg didn't ask.

Greg had been curious about Johns romantic relationships and John had admitted they'd all been exclusively female. Greg had looked thoughtful, but hadn't pressed the matter. After all, who else, but Greg, could really understand?

**Author's Note:**

> And this is it!  
> I wrote a continuation to this somewhere but I can't find it. A casefic where John has to face his old rugby team in connection to a case, Sherlock is clueless about what they did to John and Greg is there too.
> 
> I lifted dialogue from the Pilot episode when they discussed the shooting.


End file.
